I Miss You  Ducky's Story
by GataChica
Summary: Ducky's POV on my story "I Miss You." Abby/Ducky


Title: I Miss You – Ducky's Story

Author: GataChica

Rating: T

Spoilers: none

Summary: Ducky's POV on my story, "I Miss You". Abby/Ducky

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended

I've always wanted her. I won't deny it, because honesty is highly important to me. But I never felt it proper even to hint at my feelings. Every time I wanted to do so, my mind tortured me with visions of Abby as my Lolita (the fact that she dressed in the style called "Gothic Lolita" was just a side issue). It would have been completely inappropriate, given the disparity of our ages, for me to expect anything of that sort from her – to take advantage of her that way.

The oddest part of the situation was that she appeared to want me back. This fact caused me exquisite pain at times, for Abigail is a very loving young lady even without the addition of amorous feelings. Hugs and kisses she gives freely, with an open heart. Not the "hold-you-at-arms-length" type of hugs, either. I can't count the number of times I've feared being caught in the "gallant reflex," afraid of giving away the truth of how I feel. Fortunately, she has never seemed to notice - the lab coat does come in handy!

Abby flirts with everyone, of course, but at some point I felt she was different with me. Could she be – dare I say it – a bit more serious? Was she attempting to communicate something? I fought the urge to be excited, to allow myself to believe it might be true. There were many reasons for choosing to be cautious; probably first and foremost, I knew that I would not be what she needed. She would be disappointed in the end, and of course I did not relish the thought of having my heart broken. In addition, we have long been friends, and we work closely together. If our relationship went a different direction, how would it affect the rest of our lives?

Therefore, I gently rebuffed her advances, even when they became unmistakable. I constructed logical reasons for my apparent lack of interest, as I certainly did not want to hurt her feelings. But little by little she backed me into a corner. No, that isn't fair. I backed myself into a corner because by then my resistance was so low it was no longer enough to stop me.

One evening I found myself at her apartment, enjoying the unique ecstasy of kissing Abby, and I could no longer hide my feelings. "I knew it," she said with satisfaction, as she undressed me. She took my hand and led me to her bedroom.

Making love to Abigail was the sweetest experience I have ever had, and I made sure she knew that from my enthusiasm as well as the words of love I murmured in her ear as we relaxed afterwards. We both fell asleep quickly.

I woke only two hours later, and the spell was broken. I was confronted with the enormity of what I had done, and it made me sick to my stomach. I had failed in my intentions; I had lost control and I did not know what damage that might cause. I had taken advantage of Abigail and I knew one thing without a doubt: the only way to keep it from happening again was to leave.

Cautiously and quietly moving from her bed, I left her apartment and went home. From then on the process moved swiftly, once I had made up my mind. I called the NCIS Director and told him I was resigning due to a family emergency in Scotland, and I made a reservation on the first possible flight. I didn't pack much; there really wasn't time. I expected to send for the rest after I found a new place to live.

So barely 24 hours after our lovemaking, we were separated by an ocean and also by the fact that I had left so abruptly. I knew she would never forgive me, and I tried very hard to put her out of my mind.

But Abigail had been part of my life for such a long time, I could not just cut the ties so easily. At least 50 times a day for the next week I picked up the telephone to call her, then set it down again. I kept busy finding a place to live, looking for a job, calling on friends I had not seen in many years. Sometimes I managed to forget her for five minutes at a time. But that was rare; most of the time she hovered at the back of my mind, looking sad and reproachful. Somehow I knew I had hurt her badly.

Night was the worst time, because I had nothing to distract me from thoughts of Abby. As time went on I slept less and less, and by the second week I was only able to snatch an hour or two when I was most exhausted. The rest of the time I felt hollow, incomplete, and even shameful. I remembered all the times she made me laugh, the other times when we argued, her affectionate nature, and yes, I replayed over and over the night that I failed her.

Restless, unable to concentrate, and increasingly depressed, I finally acknowledged to myself that I had to go back, if only to explain why I left, since that was part of the shame that was torturing me. I couldn't look past that confrontation – I was totally incapable of deciding whether to remain in DC or not, but it didn't matter. I had to see her.

It was night when I reached DC, and I decided to stop by NCIS headquarters for some reason I couldn't quite bring to consciousness. Perhaps I associated it so strongly with my Abigail that I would rather go there instead of home. When I arrived, the security guard was surprised to see me. "Dr. Mallard, I thought you had moved back to Scotland?" he asked.

"Ye-es," I said, slowly, "but I need to finish some – issues."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Are you going down to the morgue? If you are, I should let you know that Ms. Sciuto is there."

I stared at him, completely taken aback. "What?"

"She's there every night," he explained. "Every night since you left. I usually check on her at least once. Most of the time I find her crying," he added matter-of-factly.

"I see." For a moment I was frozen, then I shook my head. "I will go to see her, then." He smiled and let me into the building.

When I left the elevator I could see that the morgue was dark except for the lamp on my desk. I was appalled to see how Abby looked; she had really taken my absence hard, it appeared.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"Abby, what are you doing down here?" I asked, moving through the darkness towards her. She didn't answer, merely stared in shock. Finally I was beside her and I touched her arm.

"I miss you!" she said in a choked voice. "Why did you go?" She hugged me and I hugged back, feeling that the hole inside myself was finally filled. But I had some explanations to make.

I wanted to tell her about the shame I felt, but I could only stammer; the words wouldn't come. She stood and kissed me and for several moments there was such bliss that my head began to clear. I argued that I was not the one for her, that I was too old and I could not give her what she needed. But she was firm.

"Ducky, I don't think you can possibly know what I deserve or what I need. If you don't want me, say so. But if you _do_ want me, give me a chance to decide what _I _want."

I couldn't argue with that logic (and did not want to). I admitted everything. I told her how long I had loved her and was gratified to know that she had loved me just as long. The tension gradually left me, and the sensation of wrongdoing lifted, leaving behind only joy.

I took her hand and led her to the elevator so we could go up to her lab, and I thanked my lucky stars for my Abigail and her futon.


End file.
